


Men at Work

by misura



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: A CIA agent walks into a wizard.





	Men at Work

Everett couldn't quite recall, later, what had made the man stand out to him.

The cloak, definitely. It was a very _cloak_ y sort of cloak. The kind one expected to see in a movie about people who wore that sort of thing, like wizards and elves and dragons and the like. Kids' stuff.

Perhaps, Everett speculated, the man was a magician, on his way to some poor soul's birthday party. (Honestly, this day and age, whose parents did that? Balloon animals, fine - a clown, iffy, but a magician?) Perhaps Everett should pay a little more attention to other people, and a little less to the way the billowing cloak made it hard to get a proper impression of some struggling street magician's backside.

The man's eyes, possibly, once he'd turned around. Frowning, Everett realized.

"Yes?" He sounded impatient. He _looked_ impatient. Handsome, too, in a way that made Everett wish he wasn't on the clock right now, about to hop on a plane to save the world or, more modestly, earn his barely adequate government salary. (But then, one did not get into this line of work for the money.)

"Excuse me," Everett said. "Have we met?"

"No." Very short response time, Everett noted: either the man was lying, or he'd noticed Everett in much the same way Everett had noticed him and already decided that Everett was a stranger.

Everett put on his professional smile, the one that said, 'I'm with the CIA, and I know what I'm doing'. "Are you sure? You look really familiar."

That, at least, got him a long stare that was a little less frown and a little more interest.

"Perhaps at a party?" Everett suggested.

"I'm sure," the man said and then, presenting the object with a flourish, "My card."

Everett wondered if this was the equivalent of getting someone's phone number. Of course, that would have required for the card to actually contain one. Instead, all it said was, _'Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystical Arts'_ , followed by an address in New York.

"Huh. So you really are a wizard." Everett felt a bit disappointed.

"I prefer - " Strange started, then appeared to think better of it. "Yes. I really am."

"Any money in that?" Everett wondered if he should just give up now. His superiors maintained a strict hands-off, don't-ask-don't-tell policy when it came to personal relationships but a _wizard_? At the very least, it would get him a serious talk with the office shrink.

"I wouldn't know," Strange said. "I get by, I suppose. Look, I'm sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be. Another time?"

"Sure." Everett forced himself to keep smiling and step back. Just as well, really. Some things simply weren't worth the trouble - or meant to be. "I have your card, after all."

"So you do," Strange said.

As he walked past, the edge of his cloak brushed past Everett's cheek, like a kiss.

It was a nice effect, Everett decided. Good showmanship, and all that.

 

Nine weeks, two days and six hours later (but who was counting?), he was in London for a bit of business with MI6. Nothing too important, he didn't think.

His phone rang, display showing the call came from an 'Unknown Caller', which likely meant his contact was running late. These things happened. It was a small miracle the man (or woman) had been given his number at all.

"You don't write, you don't call and now you're in London and you don't even drop by for tea?"

Everett was, in fact, a professional. "How did you get this number?"

"I'm a wizard," Strange said.

" 'Master of the Magical Arts', wasn't it?" Everett dug up the card from his pocket. He didn't even know why he'd held on to it: nothing on there he couldn't simply commit to memory.

Except that it now said, _'Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystical Arts'_ (well, close enough), followed by an address that was only a five minutes' walk from Everett's current location.

"Something like that," Strange said.

Everett weighed his options. "I should be free in about half an hour." Assuming his contact showed up on time. "I don't suppose there's any chance of coffee? Americans, you know."

"Yes," Strange said, which was a bit cryptic and less than clear on the matter of coffee. "Do be punctual."

 

"You know, I've been to London a number of times, and I never noticed this house being here."

Strange sipped his tea. "No reason why you should have."

"It's a big house. Distinctive windows. Rather noticeable. I suppose it's like that railway platform - you know the one."

"I have no idea what you are referring to." Strange's tone was utterly flat.

"Ah," Everett said. "Yes. Of course. Silly of me. This is some excellent coffee, by the way."

"Thank you." Strange's expression softened a bit.

"So," Everett said. "How's life in the wizarding world?"

Strange scowled.

Everett wondered if part of him was actively trying to sabotage this - well, hardly enough there to call it a 'relationship', but it would have to do. "Get a lot of that, eh?"

"Not really," Strange said. "The advantage of dealing mostly with creatures from other dimensions, aliens from other planets and the like. The occasional demon or deity."

"All in a day's work, I imagine. Must be interesting." Everett didn't believe a word of it.

Well, maybe one in three. He liked to think he had an open mind.

"Boring, most of the time," Strange said. "Terrifying, on the rare occasion. A bit like yours, I'd assume."

"Mine?" Everett tried to recall his cover for this assignment. Insurance salesman? Accountant? Owner of a small chain of supermarkets in Ohio? "And what do you know about my work, Mr Strange?"

"Doctor," Strange said. "And, to answer your question: everything. Or 'enough', if that makes you feel more comfortable. It hardly matters, does it? I'm not interested in you because of your work."

"What are you interested in, then?" Everett asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

He'd come here with a reasonably clear idea of what Strange wanted from him. Conveniently, it coincided exactly with what Everett wanted from Strange.

"You're the spy. Shouldn't you be the one to figure that out?"

Payback was fair play, Everett supposed. And anyway, it wasn't that often that someone teased him about his work, mostly because the only people who knew about it were in the same line themselves.

"Perhaps you could write it down in code?" he suggested.

Strange smiled very faintly. "Hide a dozen clues around the house?"

"Spy, not detective," Everett said. "Most of what I do is observation."

Strange made an inviting gesture. "Observe away."

"You - " Everett considered. "You had someone switch the cards, didn't you? At the airport?"

"Is that what you think? Thus far, I'm not very impressed."

Everett shrugged. "What do you want me to say? You're good-looking. Attractive. Weirdly hung up on all this magic business, but then, nobody's perfect and I'm hardly in a position to throw stones."

"Want to look at my card again?"

"You haven't been anywhere near - " Everett stared.

_'Doctor Stephen Strange, Your Future Boyfriend'_. There were four addresses listed, two of which were familiar: the one in London and the one in New York. There was one in Tokyo he'd never seen before, and one -

"I've been wanting to get a place away from home, so to speak," Strange said. "Go and take a look when you're in the neighborhood. Let me know what you think."

"I think you're being very cavalier about all this." One thing to accept an invitation to tea; quite another to contemplate moving in with someone who imagined himself to be a wizard.

"There are some signs indicating the world may end in another year, give or take a few weeks," Strange said. "So it doesn't seem the right time to take things slow."

"Oh, right." A distinct flair for the dramatic, Everett had to give the man that. Still, why not? Little harm in looking at the place. Time enough to evaluate his priorities later - unless, of course, the world really was going to end, in which case he'd be glad to have made the most of it. "Well. If you put it like that. Does this place have a bedroom?"

"Several," Strange said. "And a desk."

Everett put down his coffee cup. "Then, by all means, lead the way."


End file.
